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Poems By Poet Patti Masterman  7/11/2014 5:47:19 PM
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A Dialectic

The tides can speak the language of the sea
The moon knows the dialect of the sun
Mountains can communicate with clouds, through a single touch

And true lovers can always speak one another's tongue
Although they may be different:
And even some languages that have not been invented yet.
Patti Masterman



A Dream For You

A dream for you
And one for me;
A mermaid's blue,
A symphony,
A secret house
Inside a tree
The dreamworld's full
Of company.

At night we go
To places rare,
Where no one knows
That they are there;
And every dream
A hidden stair,
That takes us to
A new somewhere.

If only dreams
Could overlap
The sleeping seams
Within our nap,
And precious streams
Not on a map
Then other lives,
We could unwrap.
Patti Masterman



A Giraffe Ate Your Tulips

There really is no nice way
To tell you what I saw;
But a giraffe ate your tulips-
He chomped them with his maw.

How he came to be there,
Inside your flower beds,
I really cannot tell you but-
He bit their bulbous heads.

He chewed them up a time or two,
And swallowed each in turn,
Then took a sip of water
At the bird bath, by the urn.

He ate them all quite neatly-
(I think his favorite's red)
And wiped his mouth on branches,
Then scratched his spotted head.

All day I've been debating
Just how to break the news;
But a giraffe ate your tulips,
And then he had a snooze.

He snoozed against the carport,
And he swatted at the flies
With his handy tail-swipe,
When I swear I heard him sigh.

And I'm mostly sure I heard him
Belch a time or two,
Before heading for Mrs. Johnson's-
Where he ate her tulips too.

I know you miss your tulips;
They had the strangest fate,
But a tulip munching giraffe,
You could not anticipate.

You ought to plant more tulips;
I don't think he's coming back-
But maybe choose a different shade-
That giraffes will not snack.
Patti Masterman



A Living Doll

I used to play with dolls
Long ago, in another century
I fed them mud pies
Brushed their hair
Washed their little clothes
Counted their fingers and toes
They entertained themselves
I'd park them on a bench
Or any handy surface
They were user friendly
Not like real babies
Dolls aren't good training for those
I did alright with the real one
Never dropped her or stepped on her
Never went to jail
Can't pry her off me now
Can't unglue the maternal glue that's blood
The dolls paid their dues
And now she looks toward other days
Where I'll not be allowed trespass
But she always turns up again
She remembers where she came from.
Patti Masterman
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Poems By Poet Patti Masterman